It’s a blissful day. Snow covers the repugnant imperfections all around.
The mood is set.
The events Orange had always imagined would be upon him soon.
Blue walked in. She didn’t notice him yet. She was too busy dealing with her own wilderness.
Her ice met his. Facial recognition going through her brain confirmed it. It was Orange.
“Welcome to Ca…”
He saw how bewildered she was.
That was when time stopped.
“His ice.” She thought to herself
“They’re not his.”…
Orange’s ice were white. Completely white. No one ever liked them but they did question them. No one saw beauty in them. They were lifeless.
Blue remembers because she was the first to ever make Orange smile when he looked at his own ice.
Blue was the first to make Orange look at his own ice.
Blue’s ice were completely golden with black slithers due to the darkness in her. She never knew until he pointed it out one day…
“Bronze” she would answer without a doubt.)
“What are you doing?” Blue asked while laughing.
Orange chuckled, then smiled.
(He smiled in a way that only Blue could finesse onto Orange’s face. She’s the only one who had ever witnessed that smile.
She knew that smile.
She loved it.)
“Blue. Your ice are not bronze. They’re gold,” he noticed and continued to mention the stripes that detailed the tiger trapped in them.
Orange knew that Blue was the only one who possessed such ice.
She never knew until he opened her ice.
Only then was she able to see.
Only then was she certain of her golden ice and stripes that detailed them.
Maybe she never saw the gold.
Nor the stripes.
Maybe to her, her ice remained bronze…
Well she certainly saw the gold now, but no stripes.
His ice were full of life now as well.
It made no sense to her. Orange had completely white ice.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
“What gave them life?” Blue asked.
“What gave who life?”
Orange was puzzled.
She didn’t panic.
Instead she did what she always did.
Blue proceeded to gently place both of her hands on both sides of his face to hold it ever-so dearly.
While doing so, she gazed into his newfound ice.
In that very moment, time started to proceed.
The memories flooded his mind. They began to envelop him in happiness.
It was him.)
They were whole at last.
“Your ice. What gave them life?” Blue insisted.
“You did, Blue.
Can’t you tell?” His words were squishy.
The memory entered her mind again.
(“Blue. Your ice are not bronze. They’re gold.”
She let go of his face so that he could talk without his cheeks being mushed. She let go to devour his face with her gaze as well.
“Orange. I can tell. They’re mine.”
Orange and Blue are almost opposites on the known color spectrum. They compliment each other very well because of that.
-Inspired by the every-day dreams I have of complimenting Blue again.